The Tale Continues
by whack sparrow
Summary: With more cases, ghosts from the past and a very healthy mix of bottled-up emotions, there is still much to the stories of Ned and Co. It's a pity that they all start with a grisly murder (or two).
1. The Tale Continues

**What's up Pushing Daisies fandom? This is my first fic.**

* * *

Emerson Cod was asleep at his desk, snoring quite unceremoniously for someone who was supposed to be ... well, he wasn't supposed to be doing anything; he hadn't had a good case in weeks. Still, there's something about a private detective sleeping at his desk that is ... questionable. So when a frightened young woman, who was _sure _there was someone (or some_thing, _she wasn't quite sure) after her and her family, barged through the door, forgetting her manners in her distress, she was not impressed.

She cleared her throat noisily, hoping to subtly wake him, but found her cough drowned out by the gravelly snores.

"Mr. Cod?" She ventured at last, wondering whether this was a normal thing in the 'private investigator' industry.

More snores. Losing her patience, she rapped, three times, sharply on his desk. "Emerson!" she barked.

He shot up like a startled squirrel, knocking over a big sheaf of papers in the process. "W-wha-?"

Looking up around him, he confirmed this was his office and _not _the knitting paradise he'd been dreaming of - and suddenly, he was all business. Maybe the lady had only just walked in, and didn't know he had been sleeping. He straightened his tie and put on a dignified expression. "Emerson Cod, Private Investigator. What can I do for you?"

Linda, as she would introduce herself as, narrowed her eyes and regarded Emerson with an indignant no-nonsense glare, before calming down and recounting the misfortunes that had befallen her family over the past week.

The facts were these.

Linda Smith was twenty-nine years, twelve weeks, three days, four hours and exactly nine minutes old, cleaning out a vast collection of junk from around her house, when she heard a howl and a bloodcurling scream from next-door. That was where her husband happened to be. working late on a project with his friend and colleague. The time was just just after ten o'clock at night and their daughter was asleep in bed.

Upon heading over to investigate, she was greeted with a rather alarming scene. Her husband's colleague was slumped back in his chair, arms crossed, with his head missing - and she found it shortly after, grimacing up at her under the table in a pool of blood. Pieces of bloodstained paper and files were strewn across the table and floor. There was another scream from upstairs, a voice she recognized straight away as Mr. Smith, her husband, and she rushed upstairs to find his own headless corpse. The window exploded and she caught sight of a large shape flitting through it; a large shape which she swore was not human.

The police assured her they would look into the case, but a week had passed and they were none the wiser. She had wasted enough time mourning already, what with the funeral, and now she wanted justice. She was going to get to the bottom of this, and she didn't care how much money she would have to spend doing it.

Emerson clapped his hands and tried not to smile (for this was a rare opportunity - a case to keep him busy with a very generous payout to boot!). "Sounds like my kind of job, ma'am. I'll take care of it."

And so it began. But first, Emerson had to clear all the paper off the floor.

* * *

Olive was soon to be in a strange situation. She may have had no idea just how strange, but she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that, once again, things in her life were about to get so much more complicated. Her mother used to call this her 'sixth sense', although Olive didn't trust her feelings very well. Not since Ned. She was over Ned by now, though, and about time. No feelings for him at all.

"None at all, no sir!" She reassured herself aloud with her trademark smile. She didn't realize she was voicing her inner monologue at one of her customers instead of pouring him his coffee. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she poured away. Today was a busy day at the Pie Hole. People streamed in and out with a fluidity that offered her no respite.

Ned was in the back, baking the pies. At least he got some peace and quiet.

The doors swung open as yet another customer walked in. He frequented the Pie Hole, usually once a week, and he would always come alone. He was tall and handsome with a trench coat and hat, which he removed to reveal neatly combed dark hair. He sat down at a table in the corner and waited politely.

"Hiya sir, what can I get you?" Olive bubbled as she sidled over to him, took his hat and set it on the hat-stand.

"A slice of blueberry, please, thank-you," he replied.

It was polite customers like these that made Olive's day. It helped that he was cute, too. "Just one minute, coming up!"

She passed the order onto Chuck, who passed it onto Ned, and fifty-five seconds later, Olive was bringing the slice of pie along with a pot of coffee. "Coffee's on the house. Enjoy, mister!"

He gave her a smile, and suddenly she longed to sit down next to him and watch him eat the pie and refill his coffee and ask him his name and how his day had gone and what he did for a living and how he kept his hair so neat. Turning a little pink, she whirled around and bustled over to wipe down a table hastily.

She was interrupted by an urgent tap on her shoulder, and was surprised to see a nervous-looking Ned behind her - within touching distance. Her heart fluttered involuntarily, like she knew it would, but she ignored this, as she always did."What's up, Ned?"

"The pie I just gave you..." he whispered, "you haven't...er, delivered it yet, have you?"

"Of course I have, why do you ask?"

"Damn it," he muttered. "You asked for blueberry, right? That was pear and fermented apple, I might have mixed the two up by accident."

She frowned. "Ferm-"

"Don't ask. I bake those specially for Emerson, because when he drops by he's usually overly cynical and the cider helps him to tone it down a little, and I wasn't supposed to tell you that, but promise you won't tell Emerson, and could you apologize to whoever you gave the wrong pie to?"

Olive put her hands on her hips. "Nuh-uh, I'm not taking responsibility for your pie-mishap. I don't want that blood on my hands. You go and you apologize to him yourself, be a man!"

Ned looked at the floor. "You know I'm not good at that kind of thing, Olive..."

"At what, being a man?" She gave him a radiant smile. "Well, gotta start learnin' somewhere, Ned! C'mon, I'll come with you, you big cissy."

She dragged him over with a grip that constricted some of his blood vessels, and soon he was standing by the man's table, his hands clasped behind his back, fidgeting with each other. The man in the trench coat was eating the pie slowly, savoring each mouthful as if it was a special pie, or as though he was a professional pie-taster who rolled the mouthful in his tongue and made a mental list of every ingredient, with a notepad and pen in his pocket, poised to write all about how the Pie Hole neglected to serve the right pies to its customers...

Olive pinched Ned's arm with a subtlety that did not come close to reflecting how much it hurt. He coughed. "Sir, I ... uh, I'm really sorry, I think we served you the wrong pie-OW! I mean, I think _I_ served you the wrong pie, I'm terribly sorry and you can have that slice on the house in addition to a slice of blueberry like you ordered, if you want it... " he bobbed his head, "sir."

The man smiled good-naturedly. "That's quite alright, Ned, don't worry! I think I like this one even better than blueberry, in fact."

Ned blanched. "Thanks, uh, how'd you know my name?"

In response, the man reached over and flicked Ned's name tag, which was hanging from his neck. He winked, then resumed eating.

Olive took pity on Ned, who was embarrassing himself quite spectacularly, and led him away. Before she left, however, she could swear she saw a glistening in the man in the trench coat's eyes, a build-up of moisture, but then he blinked and it was gone. That look, though. It was ... _familiar._

* * *

"Ned, do you play any instruments?"

Chuck and Ned were sat cross-legged in their room. Nowadays, she usually stayed at her aunts', but today she was sleeping over at the Pie Hole with Ned. They had taken to late-night conversation on these occasions, with Chuck delighted to learn more about Ned's life and with Ned digging through his uncomfortable past and retelling awkward stories, but glad for her company.

Ned blew into an imaginary flute. "There was a scheme at my boarding school. We all had to pick up something new."

Chuck's eyebrows raised. "Really? Well, how did it go? Are you any good?"

"It was more of a tin-whistle," he scratched the back of his head absently, "and you know how I am with trying new things."

She rolled her eyes.

"I doubt I was any good, but I found it fun in a way, which is what really matters in the end." He flashed a rare smile. The moment was spoiled by the thought that if Emerson was here, he would definitely have made a cynical comment (or three). "What about you?"

Chuck brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eye and traced an invisible pattern on the bedsheet. "Nope. I learnt a lot of new stuff growing up but never really how to play any instruments. It's a shame, really. I feel like there's a whole musical world out there that I have yet to discover."

"Maybe. I find listening to music to be just as satisfying, though. Not to mention that it takes a lot less effort..."

She shook her head. "It's not the same. I don't think so. When I learnt French from those tapes, I thought that was it, but when I spoke to people and held conversations in French for the first time, it was so different! There was all this new stuff like slang, tone and swear-words and I realized I didn't speak it very well at all."_  
_

He grinned, his face lighting up for a minute. "Does swearing in French still have a romantic feel to it?"

She smiled back. "Actually, it feels kind of naughty."

As they lay back and imagined what it might feel like to be in each others arms, the phone began to ring. It was Chuck who picked it up.

"Pie Hole, Chuck speaking!"

The gravelly undertone of the reply was telltale - even Ned could hear it. "Hey, dead-girl. Mind if I speak to pieboy over there?"

"You know, you could try calling us by our names, Emerson!"

There was no response, so she sighed and relinquished the phone to Ned, who was still getting over the fact that she'd answered his phone for him. It was one of those _couple _things that reminded him that, no matter the glaring restriction set on their relationship, he and Chuck were _together_. Truth be told, it scared him a little. A lot.

Emerson, as usual, was straight to business. "I hope you're wrappin' up your little vacation, cause I have a client and therefore, finally, a decent case. And I intend on taking it head on 'cause there's bills that need payin'."

"You never had much of a problem with those before," Ned stalled. He was beginning to enjoy life without having to use his 'talent'. Sometimes, he could even immerse himself so much that he would forget his secret. Is it a secret if all your friends know? Probably not, but it still felt a little cloak-and-dagger, especially with Olive. That made him guilty, so he preferred not to think on it.

"We ain't had a case in four weeks," came the disgruntled reply. "The coffers are runnin' dry."

"My coffers are fine. The Pie Hole has been quite the business this month. Besides, your bills never used to be all that much."

Chuck took this opportunity to chip in. "Yeah, what's up with that, bill-boy? Yes, that's your new nickname. I think it's fair."

Emerson couldn't hear her. Or maybe he heard her and pointedly ignored her. "They are now. Uh, the property which I been rentin' as our office just got a great deal more expensive." A cough.

Ned sighed. "Emerson, you managed fine without me before you found out what I can do. What's to say you can't just do that now?"

"What do you mean? Ned, are you bailin' out on me? Is this your version of sayin' 'I quit'? Cause I ain't your boss."

"I don't know. To be honest, Emerson, I feel like it's time for me to put this part of my life behind me and move on from this whole morbid aspect of my life. It's unhealthy and it just reminds me of all the reckless things that it made me do." He ran a hand through his hair. Thankfully, Chuck had slipped out to get something to drink, because if she'd been here she would have undoubtedly started one of her _heart-to__-heart _discussions that Ned simply didn't like. He hated talking about his feelings.

"Naw, Ned, not now. I already said we'd take this case, and there ain't much to go on except for corpses, which happen to be your speciality. Look, after this case if you want out, we'll talk then. I get what you're sayin', but hey, one last case can't hurt."

Ned shut his eyes wearily, but let out a defeated sigh. "Fine, you can fill me in on the job tomorrow. I'm not willing but I'll do this because I'm your friend."

"Don't get all touchy-feely, pieboy. That's dead-girl talkin'. But thanks. I'll be at the Pie Hole tomorrow morning."

When Chuck returned, she saw Ned splayed out on the bed, asleep, with the phone slipping out of his hand.

"Goodnight, Ned."

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**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	2. To Business

**Thank you for the review Reonyea!**

Emerson slid a case folder meaningfully onto the table in front of him. Next to him, Ned glanced at it with a look of foreboding, but he opened it nevertheless.

"Alright, Emerson, fill me in. I might as well rip off the band-aid and finish this quickly after all."

Emerson gave one of his rare smiles and pulled out a series of photographs. "Lady named Linda approached me yesterday askin' for my help. Her husband was working on somethin' with his friend next door, and she hears a scream. She goes over and ..." he slid the photographs across to the other side. "Voila."

Ned shuddered at the crime scene photographs. "That looks bad. This is horrible even for us."

"Uh huh. She swears up and down she saw a shape leave through the window, which I'm assumin' was the killer. Thing is, this was upstairs. I don't know 'bout you, but there's no way in hell someone jumps outta that window and gets away that easy."

Ned nodded uncomfortably. "He would probably break both his legs, making it impossible to run away."

"Point. Police say, based on her account, that it was a wild animal."

"A what?"

"Like, some sorta crazy bear or whatever." Emerson pointed to the photographs. "Seems pretty brutal, hm? She disagrees, obviously, and that's when she decided to come to yours truly."

Ned tapped the table nervously. "It could be a wild animal. Maybe this isn't a case after all."

"No way. What kinda bear lets himself in and climbs up the stairs? What kinda bear fits through a window anyway?"

Ned was about to answer that some bears could be particularly dexterous and it wasn't entirely out of the question that a bear might have done it when he was interrupted by a typically cheerful Olive and Chuck, who slid into the seats opposite Ned and Emerson.

"What's up, cowboys?" Olive grinned. Her infectiously cheerful nature lifted everyone's spirits a little, as it always did (even Emerson's). Beside her, Chuck gave Ned an encouraging smile. She knew how Ned didn't want to do this case, but she felt herself that Emerson, as their friend, deserved his co-operation.

"Nothin'," drawled Emerson, knowing that Ned hadn't told Olive about their 'business' yet, and while not agreeing, respecting his wishes for now."Can I get some pie?"

"Me too," Chuck urged."I'd love some pie."

Olive preened. "Well, I'd love to give you some pie, but Ned kinda gave it to someone else yesterday." She winked at Ned. "He switched out your usual fer-"

Ned shot her a warning look, hoping to remind her of the secret.

"Err... your usual pear and nothing else pie."

Emerson rolled his eyes. "You mean my pear and fermented apple pie, which he gives to me because he thinks cider makes my sharp edges a little bit smoother? Yeah, I know, Ned. I know alcohol when i taste it."

Ned thought it wise not to reply.

"Yeah, he gave it to the wrong guy last night," Olive murmured dreamily. "I'd give it to him so fast..."

Ned frowned. "The guy in the trench coat? Really?" He didn't see it. Olive and that guy?

Olive nodded matter-of-factly. "You know, it looked like he was crying, or something, after you left. So _adorable_. It was probably a trick of the light though. Obviously people don't cry about pie."

Chuck snorted. "Ned cries if he burns the pie."

"I do not cry! I smart a little," Ned cut in. Then, in a smaller voice, "and I don't burn pie."

"Anyway," came Emerson's decisive voice, "we gotta job to do, and a morgue to get to, so if we're done with the chit-chattin' can we hurry it up a little?"

At Olive's confused look, he added quickly, "figurative morgue."

"C'mon, Olive," Chuck said brightly, pulling her over to the counter. "Let's let the boys have their day out. We've got a Pie Hole to run."

* * *

The coroner looked up disinterestedly when Ned and Emerson tapped at his desk, but there was a hint of excitement in his face.

"Alright, Emerson, it'll be the usual? Moisturizer's in the back and I even got some'a this stuff for your nails. S'posed to make 'em smooth as a stone, ya know? Gives 'em a bit of colour as well. You'll like it."

Emerson paused. "Hm? What colour?"

"A light red tinge. It's pretty, man."

At that, Emerson caught himself and cleared his throat. "Um, very nice, but we're here on business, so maybe some other time. Got some more dead bodies to check out for now."

The coroner gave a mischievous smile at that. "Thought that might be it. You're gonna _love_ these ones." His grin grew wider, revealing perfect white teeth, and he pointed towards a door behind him. "Knock yourself out."

Ned dragged them inside before Mr. Emerson Cod P.I thought about inquiring what toothpaste the coroner used, and shut the door behind them. The morgue seemed to have its own little microclimate and cold air swept through their bones as they eyed the sheet-covered corpses. Finding the right corpses was not difficult, considering they lacked heads, but this led them to another problem.

"Hang on a sec. When you touch a corpse without a head, does it even come to life?" Emerson pondered aloud, well aware that this thought should probably have occurred to him before they made the trip. Oh well.

Ned scratched his head. "Does it... does it matter? If you bring a body to life and it has no head, what's the point, since you can't ask him how he died because he has no mouth."

"I'm curious," Emerson admitted. Then he gingerly pulled back the sheet from one of the corpses. It was not a pretty sight, even ignoring the lack of a head, as the torso was considerably mauled. "Dig in."

Ned looked at his watch, waiting a few seconds for the second hand to reach twelve before starting his 'mental stopwatch' and swiftly tapping the corpse on the... on the stump where the head would have been. Charming. Couldn't he have tapped its arm?

There was the usual spark at the touch, but otherwise it seemed like nothing remarkable was happening. Once ten seconds had passed, Emerson gave the body a tentative poke. Then another.

"I don't think it worked, Emerson... maybe it do-"

He was cut off by a muffled noise coming from one of the various cabinets embedded into the back wall. The cabinet had a label on it saying 'appendages'. Emerson strode over and yanked it open, then pulled out a sealed plastic box that, upon its opening, revealed a confused and rather indignant-looking human head.

Naturally, Emerson dropped the box and screamed. So did the box.

Ned hurriedly picked it up and set it onto the countertop, afraid it might try to bite him. Thankfully, the face inside simply glared at him and spoke. "Finally! It was so _stuffy_ in there. I was finding it hard to breathe."

Emerson, having recovered by now, walked over to them and gave the head a patient grimace (the sort of expression only Emerson could pull off). "Hey, you're dead," he commented crisply with characteristic nonchalance, "and we've been hired to find out who killed you. So who killed you, if you don't mind?" He punctuated the end with a false smile. It wasn't that he was being rude, but he'd never quite sussed how you were supposed to talk to a dead person, convince him that he really is dead _and _ask him how he died all in the space of one minute while also being polite. It wasn't exactly a practiced skill.

The dead usually reacted equally nonchalantly though, as if they automatically understood the nature of their predicament. Maybe they did? Maybe that was part of the magic. In fact, there was yet to be someone brought to life by Ned's touch who actually _freaked out_, which had to count for something.

"Also, if you have any last wishes we would be happy to try and do them," Ned added quickly without thinking - it just felt like the right thing to say to set the man's mind at ease. He glanced at his watch and - yikes! Fifteen seconds left!

"I'm what? Oh, that's why I can't see my body," came the reply from the head. "Huh, makes sense."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So, who killed you?"

"The pizza delivery guy."

Ned reached over and tapped him on the forehead, and the eyes went slack. Bingo!

Emerson raised his head to the sky. "It's straightforward cases that remind me that God really is watching over us. Thank you." He draped the sheet back over the ragged corpse, hastily replaced the lid on the creepy head-in-a-box and stowed it back in the 'appendages' cabinet. "I think we've heard all we need to hear."

Ned was hardly going to disagree.

* * *

Monday business at the Pie Hole was meager compared to most days. As opposed to the usual stream of customers, there was merely a trickle as people prepared to work through the week. Pie on Monday simply never felt quite good enough. Olive knew this because Monday tips equally lacked that _je ne sais quoi, _except she did _sais quoi _(or, as Chuck would have berated her, she did _sait quoi) _and that _quoi _was due to the heavy weight of Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday that lingered in people's thoughts.

Chuck was baking the pies today. She set a tray of cup-pies into the oven, humming a little ditty. Ned _hated _cup-pies, but he loved her more, so they were on the menu and Chuck could look at that whenever she wanted to remind herself how sweet he could really be. Cup-pies _were _a good idea, it turned out, especially for Mondays. People who didn't fancy sitting inside the all-too-bright Pie Hole on a dingy Monday with a slice of false happiness could take the mini treats to go and indulge whenever they wanted. Now they were a Monday special.

"Hey, Chuck," came Olive's distant burble as she refilled the coffee beaker. "D'you think we should have a karaoke night?"

Pleasantly thrown by this observation, Chuck smiled. You could always count on Olive to be the creative one, the one who came up with the quirkiest, strangest ideas that seemed to punctuate life at the Pie Hole (and she wouldn't have it any other way). In so many ways she was the opposite of Ned. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno, I'm just thinkin' we could use a little music in our lives, y'know?" A shrug.

"Maybe we should set up a stereo or something, then."

Olive nodded. That was more practical. "That would float my boat." She glanced around, examining the building. "Couple of speakers around and this place could be a lot more lively!"

"What kind of music are you thinking, Olive?" Chuck ventured. Olive was definitely the musical type, she imagined.

Olive gave an airy wave. "Oh, you know. Heavy stuff some days, but broadly just rock. Like Guns n' Roses. Ooh, I think Guns n' Roses would really fit the theme of this place."

"Really?" Chuck's eyebrows raised.

"M-hm."_  
_

The doors swung open to admit their fifth customer of the day. To Olive's surprise (and poorly contained delight) it was Mister Trench Coat from the other day. She sidled over to Chuck as he sat down and pointed him out to her. "It's _him_," she mouthed gleefully.

Chuck eyed him. He was certainly handsome, with a smoothly shaven face and a jawline which looked like it was made out of stone. A few streaks of gray in his dark hair suggested he was older than one might first think - perhaps in his early forties? And damn if he didn't dress well.

Olive seemed to have suddenly vanished, so Chuck stepped forward. "Hi, I'm Chuck. What can I get you?"

"I hear this place makes excellent cup-pies," came the reply, "and I sure could use some coffee as well before I gotta head to work." He shot her a winning smile (which to him was probably just a smile, but seemed winning to her.)

"Right away."

Olive reappeared shortly with her hair fixed and what looked like ... lipstick. She'd undone one of the buttons on her blouse to boot. Chuck bit back a smile, feeling warmer inside to see her friend seeming to finally forget about Ned and have the fun she so deserved. Chuck had always felt terribly guilty for being the unwitting cause to Olive's stationary love life, having swept in and swept Ned off his feet from the dead. At the start, she felt like she was intruding on something and although that feeling had faded, she was always aware of Olive's sacrifice.

Subconsciously, Chuck felt familiarity tickle her neck as she watched Olive swoon in front of the oblivious man as he made pleasant conversation with her and sipped on the coffee she brought him. It was something about the way the man held himself, even how he sat and how he blinked and how he focused on his coffee whenever he took a sip, how he held it firmly with both hands. It was so very... _Ned._

She shook the feeling and busied herself with cup-pies. It was probably nothing. Still, once the suspicion took seed in her mind it was only fuelled by his tone, the shape of his nose and, of all things, his _handwriting _as he bemusedly scribbled down his name and phone number for a serious-looking Olive (who was babbling about free pie delivery for every fifth customer). She _knew _Ned, and this man radiated Ned.

* * *

**Hope it ain't too obvious. Thanks for reading and pls review!**


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